


the axe of peace in the hands of an anarchist (now isn't that ironic)

by AsterChonk0



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: :), Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Letters, haha cry, mcdsjbfbdask, my au my au my au my au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsterChonk0/pseuds/AsterChonk0
Summary: What if Tommy lost the fight?
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit
Comments: 10
Kudos: 189





	the axe of peace in the hands of an anarchist (now isn't that ironic)

**Author's Note:**

> my eyes burn

The sharp knocks on his door at roughly 4 in the morning have him reaching for his totem and axe in reflex. 

Techno grumbles passive-angrily; it had been three weeks since he’d had a good sleep that hadn’t been thwarted by mobs knocking on his door or nightmares. He was  _ so close _ to falling asleep,  _ so close _ to falling into the clutches of crack-filled dreams, but apparently you can only long for shit. 

There’s a blizzard raging outside, offering as white noise along with the fireplace crackling every now and then. Phil’s slight snores can be heard from above, and he usually sleeps through these, which is good, Techno thinks. The lumps of snow hit his windows with force and created too much noise for his sensitive ears and a headache. 

His axe, enchanted with mediocre enchantments and with a dark oak handle, has two emeralds and a diamond stuck near the base of the blade. The voices coo at the sight, just like they’d cooed when Ranboo had presented him with the axe in replacement of the Axe of Peace. He’d blushed and stated that this meant nothing to him, but deep down, his heart had swelled at the action. 

The thudding at the door had only gotten more insistent, and Techno flings open the door and winces as the cold air hits him in the face and as a small body falls to the ground with a small yelp. 

Techno is now on guard. Who is this intruder? How did he find him? 

( _ HE’S ALIVE, e, KILL HIM, INTRUDER!, he’s cold, help him, NO KILL HIM!, EEE) _

The body is slightly shivering and curling into itself for warmth, and Techno does not want to be in it’s shoes. The boy (chat and him had decided) was in a suit that could only be called rags now. There were cuts and bruises littering every bare inch of his skin and his brown hair was flaked with snow and blood. 

“Hello?,” Techno crouches down, axe gripped tightly. “Are you okay?”

The boy gasps and his burn marks become more apparent, and Techno flinches back. 

“ _ Tubbo?! _ ”

The boy stills, and his tiny horns become more apparent, except they’re chipping in places and his ears are flat against his head. He clutches tightly to a bundle in his hands, and from what he can see, the younger’s hands are pale and bruising. 

“H-hey, Techn-noblade,” he chatters out.

_ (he sounds awful, TUBBO!, BEE BOY, E, get him warm, NO KILL HIM INTRUDER!!!, he has something!) _

Techno scoops up the boy and carefully places him to where Techno had been resting before; the chair was in front of the hearth at a safe distance, and Techno threw his cloak over the shaking boy as an extra precaution. He rushes down towards his storage chests in search of clothes suitable for the Tundra being hit by a blizzard and magma cream - it was pretty warm, it would bring his body temperature back to normal. He rushes around and rummages for water bottles. 

He finds everything, thankfully and rushes back up the ladder on soft, speedy steps and finds that Tubbo’s stop shaking violently, now blinking deliriously at the man with his brown-blue eyes. Techno shakes his head and walks forward towards the boy. 

“You think you’ll be able to change your clothes by yourself?,” he questions awkwardly, and Tubbo nods, hands reaching out for the set of clothes visible in his arms. Techno gladly hands him the folded clothes and turns towards the potions chest, opting to organise the already organised chest.

He hears Tubbo shuffle for a bit, and then he hears him sit back down in the armchair. Techno takes it as his sign to turn around and offer to apply the magma cream on the boy’s skin. 

_ (tubbo looks sad, HE’S GOING TO DIE OH NO, he looks so small, he looks high, E) _

Chat was right, Tubbo did look distracted and high (or had he been crying a lot? He wouldn’t be surprised). The young boy had always been bright and bubbly like his counterpart, but war had shaped them into something that could only be called a ‘former shell of their past selves’.

It was so much past that. 

“Bundle,” Tubbo mumbles. 

Techno follows his sight and sees the bundle that Tubbo was clutching when he’d fallen through his door. The bundle is pointy on one side and round on all the other edges. 

“For you,” he croaks out. “Tommy.”

...Tommy had sent this ‘bundle’? Tommy had sent  _ Tubbo _ in a blizzard with nothing but his suit?

“If Tommy wants me to have my stuff back, stuff that  _ he  _ took,” he spat. “He can come and give it himself, then.”

“He-he can’t,” Tubbo whimpers, and promptly breaks down. 

Techno is confused. 

_ (oh shit, nononono, E?, oh fucking hell he did it, rip) _

Why couldn’t Tommy come and give him his stuff? Why were the voices acting mellower than before? Why was Tubbo crying at the mention of Tommy? Questions rose and stayed, and Techno felt as if his head would burst. 

The bundle is light in his hands, but when he unwraps it, he almost drops it. 

The Axe of Peace looking pristine, sits in the midst of the enchanted golden apples, ender pearls, potions of strength and healing and what he assumes to be a note. Carefully, he walks and sits next to Tubbo on the floor, and opens the folded paper. 

He didn’t know what to expect from someone who was more active than active-passive. 

_ Dear Technoblade,  _

_ Bet you’re thinking, ‘Tommy can write???’. I assure you, yes. I lived with you, Wilbur and Phil for family, what did you expect? The scrawly writing was much faster.  _

_ I’d prefer to talk to you verbally, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want to see my face again. After all, I did betray you. I deserve it, yeah, but maybe I didn’t. I was fucked with by Dream in the head. He made me blow up my stuff almost every time he came to visit me; if I refused, I’d get crit hits until I was near death. He’d tell me that no one wanted to see me, to talk to me, that he was the only one who cared. Part of me was inclined to believe him, but part of me still believed in you, in Ghostbur, in Dad. Even though he never came, even though you came to mock me once, I still believed in you. Even if Ghostbur left me for a while, left me to the clutches of manipulation, I believed in him.  _

_ The time in my little ‘raccoon hole’ gave me time to be with my thoughts, and God was it awful. I started to get the truth mixed with fantasy, but the conversations and soft footfalls kept me grounded. I don’t know why.  _

_ Then you found me with all your shit. I remember being scared out of my mind, thought you might take my life because I took your stuff. I was confused and relieved when you didn’t, but instead offered to ‘help’ me. It was ironic wasn’t it? Me, agreeing to the help of an anarchist for the rescue of a government. God, it makes me crack up every time.  _

_ Then Doomsday came around. Doomsday was doomsday, when L’manburg ceased to be, when she breathed her last breath. L’manburg was never meant to be, not after the Final Control Room. It’s people have gone through enough; it’s time they leave her to rest. She has suffered enough. Please make sure she has her peace, Techno.  _

_ The whole point of this letter was to apologise, guess I got carried away. So, we start again; I’m sorry for being a shit younger brother, I’m sorry for betraying you and having you to deal with me over the past few months we were allies. I’m sorry I’d never get to spar with you again. I’m sorry we’ll never be able to be brothers until we die.  _

_ I’m sorry I died Techie.  _

_ I hope you won’t miss me much. I’ve only caused you misery. Tell Phil I'm sorry for being difficult.  _

_ Yours Sincerely, _

_ TommyInnit  _

_ P.S. Please look after Ranboo, Tubbo, Fundy, and Niki. _

The Voices in his head raged with cries of anger and despair ( _ BLOOD, BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD, HE’S DEAD?!, WHO KILLED HIM, BLOOD, E, BLOOD, BURN DOWN THE SMP!, HE DIDN’T DESERVE THIS!). _ He stares at the letter with wide eyes and fat silent tears falling down on the paper and the bundle slowly slides down to the floor from his lap. One of his hands clutch at his hair tightly and the other rubs at his burning eyes harshly. 

A small hand places itself on his head gently, and Techno leans into the touch slightly. 

“He didn’t want to die,” Tubbo whispers. “He tried to come back, he really did. But Dream had the upper hand. He had Notch Apples and Potions and Instant Damage Pots, and we only had normal Gapples and two Strength Pots.

“He gave me both of his Pots, that motherfucker,” he humorlessly chuckles. “Said he had more. I shouldn’t have believed him.”

Techno doesn’t hear him. He doesn’t hear the flames flicker harder, like they can taste his anger. He doesn’t hear the blizzard speed up, like it can feel his despair. 

He brings his knees to his chest and he sobs.

**Author's Note:**

> i has tumblr! :D 
> 
> it's asterchonk0
> 
> please do not follow me /hj /lh


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